


Means to an End

by goddammit_charlie



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammit_charlie/pseuds/goddammit_charlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back when his organisation was just beginning, Wilson Fisk had to make some difficult choices. Fortunately the faithful Wesley has always been by his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Means to an End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selwyn (Rourkissey)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Selwyn+%28Rourkissey%29).



2002

Having someone killed was very different to doing it oneself, Fisk mused as he awaited the call. What had happened with his father had been brutal, horrifying, cathartic. The memory sickened him but he did not regret it. Now twenty years later, another life was being claimed at his direction even as he sat here in his penthouse apartment. His hands were clean but his conscience prickled. His reflection was stark against the dark windows, and he saw himself startle as his phone rang.

"It's done."

He returned the phone to his pocket without a word and stood to pace the room, breathing heavily. He had been uncomfortable with the prospect from the beginning, and now he was overwhelmed by a sense of stomach-dropping horror. He just wanted to make his city great - how had his plans taken this dark path? 

His first forays outside of the law had been untroubling: he knew his intentions were good, and if bribing a zoning commissioner or making a particularly educated investment could help him in his mission then surely the end justified the means. He had been slightly uneasy with the initial mob affiliations, uncomfortable with the idea of defining himself as an actual criminal, but the benefits they brought to his cause soon eased his concerns. He had never imagined that some unimportant Russian henchman would get himself arrested and start threatening to broker a deal - to give up the corrupt American businessman instead of betraying his own people. He had been left with no choice but to give the order. Still, bile rose in his throat at the thought of the life cut short by his request. 

He paced until the buzz of the intercom stilled him in his tracks. For a brief, mad moment he imagined the mobster's family - grey-faced parents, a weeping fiancée, a teenaged sister perhaps - gathered on the street outside with vengeance in their eyes. Then he pressed the flashing button and heard the clipped, calm tones of his most trusted assistant.

"It's Wesley. May I come up?"

He thumbed the door release key and then waited, counting out the seconds of the long elevator ride up to the top floor, and headed towards the front door just as Wesley rapped smartly on the other side.

"Wesley. Do you know if everything went smoothly?"

"Yes sir, entirely as planned."

Fisk nodded. His eyes felt scorched and stinging, and he ground the heels of his palms against them in frustration. 

"There was nothing else we could have done, was there?" His voice was soft and hoarse.

"If there had been any other option we would have taken it, sir. You were given no choice."

Fisk returned to his seat by the vast table and put his head in his hands. Wesley remained standing, poker straight, and regarded him in silence for a long moment, before speaking again more softly.

"He was one man, threatening to destroy your plans for the betterment of an entire community. You did the right thing."

Fisk looked up and Wesley straightened his posture even more rigidly, trying to conceal the trace of tenderness he could feel creeping into his expression. Perhaps he did not hide it well enough.

"Would you consider me a cruel man, Wesley?"

"Not at all, sir. Everything you do is in the interests of improving people's lives." 

Fisk considered this for a moment.

"My father was a cruel man," he said eventually. "Petty and brutal. I always hoped I was nothing like him, but..."

"You are _nothing_ like him," Wesley interrupted with more feeling than he had intended. Fisk glanced at him curiously. "Not at all, sir." 

Fisk sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Thank you, Wesley. I hope you are right. Nonetheless, let's avoid any more bloodshed. Let this first death be our last."

"Yes sir."

The next morning, Fisk retrieved his father's cufflinks from the drawer where they had lain for years as he'd tried to forget how they came into his possession. He polished them to a shine and fastened them at his wrists, an ever-present reminder of the kind of man he was, and the man he wasn't.


End file.
